It was hard losing Incubus. He'd grown attached to her, looking on her not only as a horse but a friend. Still, at least he had the colt. In two years she would take up where her mother had left off and again the Watson name would reverberate through the racetracks. He went inside the stall, looked down at Incubus' daughter, who reposed on the hay looking up at him with big blue eyes. He gasped. He had forgotten. Incubus was not a real horse, she was merely a demon in the shape of a horse. Incubus Two was not in the shape of a horse.